Little Black Lies
by smilelaughread
Summary: "You're easy to love, dear," her mother always said. "It's what the name 'Annabella' means." Easy to love. Yeah, as if. Written as an entry for the "prompts" category for Lady's Writing School.


_Little Black Lies_

The girl sat at the dinner table staring moodily down at her plate. Her parents were ignoring her, and she was sick of it. The day's _Daily Prophet_ was spread out on the table, taking precedence over the dinner plates and food. She had some mashed potatoes and vegetables on her plate, but was only picking at the food instead of eating it. She wasn't in the mood.

Her mother, already dressed in the Healer uniform she had to wear to work every day (or, rather, every night, for she worked the evening shift), was speaking in hushed tones to her father, who was running fingers through his hair nervously.

"So," Anna said conversationally, trying to fill the silence somehow. "How was work, father?"

He shushed her, hissing, "Annabella, dear, your mother and I are discussing something important." Then, her mother exchanged a look with her father, he let out a deep breath, and he looked up at her. "I apologise for that. Please let us finish our discussion and then I'll be free to speak with you."

She nodded, though she had her suspicions that their 'discussion' would trickle out to the early hours of the morning – or at least until her mother had to leave for the hospital.

Some time passed, and Anna didn't even make the effort to listen in on their conversation, lost as she was in one of the mood swings teenagers were so known for. It was her birthday – her thirteenth, to be exact. It did not need to be spent in silence, no matter what kind of a crazy criminal – Bellatrix Black, if one chanced a glance at the front page of the paper – had finally been caught and put in Azkaban.

Finally, after it finally filtered in through her stubborn head that her parents were on different wavelengths from her – and would be for some time – Anna stood and left the table. She heard the pop of a House Elf and sighed when no one called her name to chastise for leaving the table without permission.

But, alas, nothing of the sort happened.

Some hours later, just before she decided to go to bed, because waiting up any longer was pointless, a knock sounded from her door.

It was her father.

Though she would never admit it to anyone, Anna's spirits rose drastically, and an actual smile lifted the corners of her cheeks.

"Annabella, honey," said her mother, who'd appeared behind her father. "We have something very important to speak with you about."

The smile vanished. "Wonderful way of greeting me on my birthday, mother."

"Don't speak to your mother that way," came the warning, but her father looked regretful, too. "And this important thing is not just important – it's vital."

He took the newspaper out from behind his back, shoving it towards Anna. She gingerly picked it up and scooted out of the way when her parents made to sit on the bed beside her.

"What do you want?" She asked, flipping through the stories and feeling sorry for herself and annoyed at her parents. "You've kept me from Hogwarts," at that she pointed to the article on the most recent Quidditch tournament the school'd had. "It's supposedly for my own safety; you don't let me get close to any magical friends, you practically forget my birthday! Why would you do that? I'm thirteen years old now, I get to make my own choices." She let everything that had been weighing on her mind recently out, and felt slightly better afterwards.

"Dear," said her mother. "It doesn't work that way. See, we've been keeping a little, well, black lie from you. Now that it's your birthday, we thought we should tell you."

The slight waver in her mother's voice made Annabella stop short in her inward growling. Something serious was going on.

"Thirteen years and seven months ago," began her father, "A woman wearing a dark cloak came to the hospital your mother works at."

Her mother took over, "She told me she'd found out that she was with child, but that she refused to have it. She didn't want it, and asked me to remove it from her body."

Annabella shrugged. "So?"

"Well," continued her mother with moist eyes. "The way we remove unborn children is a forced apparition. Usually, they're apparated to a special hospital ward where they're cared for and then given up for adoption when they grow to normal size, as though within a mother's stomach. You know how we value magical blood… But-"

She began crying, and Annabella wasn't sure what to do. Should she comfort her mother, or should she prompt the woman to continue the story that was causing her such distress?

Then her father spoke up, and Anna turned to look at him. "Your mother and I had been trying for a child for some time before that-"

"That's not something I really needed to know, father," said Anna, wrinkling her nose.

"Yes. Well, the apparition happened and the baby was sent to the Unborn Children Facility at the hospital. Your mother came home in hysterics, wondering why some people are blessed with children and don't want them, when we were trying so hard and it couldn't happen."

"I wanted to rescue the poor little girl," said her mother in between hiccups.

A hint of realization and understanding dawned on Anna, and she leaned back and fell onto the mattress behind her. She stared up at her blank ceiling, trying to make sense of the world.

"You mean-" she began. "You mean I'm not really related to either of you?" The question came out small and timid, though inside of her a storm was brewing.

"I wanted the child, and your father and I went to visit the little girl _every day_ for the following seven months. Finally, when she was ready to be released into the world as a newborn, we adopted her. You. We saved our little girl."

Annabella could hardly think. She could barely breathe. She didn't think she'd remember to keep her heart beating if it wasn't automatic. It was skipping beats anyway.

And then she realised she couldn't breathe because she was crying. She couldn't even open her eyes. Hot, wet tears ran down the sides of her cheeks, and she heard faraway voices that must have belonged to her parents. When she managed to calm down, she asked, "Do you know who my mother is?"

There was silence.

Anna opened her eyes and stared at her parents – first her mother and then her father. Neither looked ready to give her an answer.

"Well?" She asked.

The paper, which had been chucked to the floor in the midst of her little emotional breakdown, was then picked up and handed to her. With a shaky finger, her father pointed to the woman on the page.

The woman with dark hair so like Annabella's, a colour neither of her parents possessed but that she'd never given any thought about. Anna realised she had the same high cheekbones and aristocratic facial features – and then cringed away from the page. She dropped the Prophet as though it had burned her.

And then the anger came on. "You mean to tell me that my mother is Bellatrix Black? You are trying to tell me, on my birthday, that you aren't my real parents? That I've been living a lie? Do you think it'll all be fine after this? I can't even- My life is-" She pulled at her hair. "I look like her. A lot. Is this why you don't want me around anyone? Is it because you're ashamed of me? Do you wish you'd left me in the hospital to be someone else's problem?" Her voice had risen to a volume far louder than anything she'd ever said to her parents before.

Anna took a breath, feeling fresh tears rise to the surface. Then, "Do you hate me?"

They shook their heads fervently, a wave of reassurances flowing from their lips. "We did it all to protect you. We love yo-"

"Unfortunately," she said with malice in her voice_ "I_ hate _you!"_ Anna pointed to the door. "I want the two of you out. I have to think about this. Leave, now. Now. NOW!"

They left, and Annabella sat in shock. She lay down in shock. She cried in shock. She fell asleep drained and emotionally exhausted, overwhelmed, and feeling betrayed. Her mother was a criminal, a murderer, a Death Eater. She had killed and tortured and attacked. She'd wanted to get rid of Annabella.

_"You're easy to love, dear,"_ her mother always said_. "It's what the name 'Annabella' means."_

Easy to love. Yeah, as if. Her mother had disliked her from the beginning. Her adopted parents – Merlin that was an unexpected twist in the story that was her life – probably hated her for all the unwanted attention her appearance had the ability to bring. Tears stained her pillow and she couldn't stop shaking.

But there was nothing she could do about it. She was her family's little (or not so little, for she was, after all, officially thirteen) Black lie.

* * *

**Written for Lady's Writing School as an entry for the "prompts" category.**

_2) Write another story using this different type of prompt: Your character is around 13 years old and just found out that they were adopted, with their real parents being criminals, and the character doesn't know what to do._


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